


Dungeon Hall Perspectives

by Bofur1



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Canon Compliant - Prison, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Introspection, Loneliness, Missing Loved Ones, Nightmares, Vulnerability, Worry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 03:11:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin Oakenshield has a very diverse company. They all have different loves, opinions, and feelings about their circumstances. Given much time to brood in Thranduil's prison, each Dwarf begins to feel lonely and remember other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fíli and Kíli

Kíli, 77-year-old heir of Durin, woke suddenly. He sat up immediately, bewildered and startled. Where was he? Oh. The Elf King’s dungeon. The young prince shivered inside his cell, exhausted, scared, and feeling very claustrophobic. He heard again the sound that had woken him: a soft moan. Kíli glanced at his cellmate, his only companion in this lonely world. His brother wasn’t sleeping well either. Even in the dim light Kíli could see Fíli’s tense, quivering body and hear his labored breaths. His brows were knit, and his long lashes fluttered as he faced some unseen horror.

Kíli felt pity stir in his heart. He knew how terrifying that dream world could be. The young Dwarf crawled over and placed a hand on Fíli’s shoulder. He said his name, and Fíli groaned faintly, mumbling. “No...Thorin...Kíli...”

“Fíli,” Kíli said again, more insistently. His grip on his brother’s shoulder tightened, and he jostled him a bit. Fíli lurched wildly awake, and as he sat up quickly he could hear a scream— _his_ scream—echoing through the dungeon halls.

“Fíli, it’s just me,” Kíli soothed. “It’s alright.”

“I...where are...” Fíli gasped, chest heaving as he tried to shake off the disturbing dream.

“We’re in Thranduil’s prison,” Kíli answered guiltily, wishing for the entire world that he could say anything else. Fíli sagged against the wall of the cell, drenched in sweat. His glazed ice-blue eyes shifted to Kíli’s face, and Fíli took a shuddering breath.

“You and Thorin...” he whispered. “The Elves tortured you. They were horrible to you. Every weakness, every soft spot; they knew, and that was where they hurt you.” His eyes widened. “Thorin was on the ground...he wasn’t moving...I couldn’t reach him! They took him away from me, and you—”

“Here,” Kíli said gently. He shifted slightly, seating himself behind Fíli.

“What are you doing?”

In answer, Kíli gently took hold of Fíli’s shoulders and drew his brother back, carefully forcing him to lie against his chest.  
Fíli shook his head a little but did not resist.

“Yes, brother. Relax,” Kíli breathed into Fíli’s ear. He settled down and wrapped his arms around his brother, much as Fíli did for him when he had nightmares. As he relaxed into his brother’s breast, Fíli realized just how comforting Kíli’s arms were. He had always been the big brother; he had never relied on Kíli to console him after a dark dream. Now he saw what he had missed all these years. Kíli was warm and soft. He smelled and felt like home.

Fíli’s right hand caught Kíli’s fingers with a grip of someone who seeks an anchor to reality. “Don’t leave me.” His voice was urgent.

“I promise I won’t. I’m right here. You are safe,” Kíli assured softly. “Soon we’ll be out of this accursed place.”

“We’ll never find our way out.” His brother’s voice was a mere whisper.

“Yes we will; Uncle will make sure of it.” Kíli gently placed his free hand over Fíli’s forehead, slowly drawing his brother’s head back to rest in the hollow of his shoulder. “Just close your eyes and relax.”

Fíli was still too tense under his touch, so Kíli continued to speak comfortingly. “Keep your eyes closed; you can't see the ceiling then. Now breathe deeply. In and out.”

Fíli did as he was told, settling his breathing into a steady rhythm. The two talked quietly as they settled down.

“How do you think the others are faring?”

Kíli paused. “I’m not sure. They’re probably just as ill at ease as we are.”

“No. Worse,” Fíli sighed. “We are together. I doubt that the other brothers were as fortunate.”

Kíli thought of Bofur and Bombur; Óin and Glóin; Balin and Dwalin; Dori, Nori, and Ori. “That must be horrible,” he murmured. His hold on Fíli tightened slightly. “I couldn’t imagine being in here without you.” The brothers were quiet as they considered how the others might be feeling at this moment; isolated, lonely, and scared.

“I wish we knew where they were,” Kíli said sadly. “I wish we knew if they were alright.”

“Listen, I should never have brought it up,” Fíli interrupted. “It brings things to mind that I don’t want to think about.”

“Yeah.” There was silence for a moment, and then Kíli suggested quietly, “Let’s try to sleep.”

A long while passed, but the silence was stifling, and neither felt calm enough to slumber. Then, Kíli began to hum a soft tune. It was a lullaby that their mother had sung to them when they were children. The melody was simple, but gentle and relaxing.

“I can’t believe you still remember that,” Fíli murmured, stirring slightly at the familiar song.

“Shush. Don’t speak; just breathe,” Kíli ordered gently.

Fíli could feel a strange peace stir inside as he listened to Kíli hum. Fíli started to nod, but he knew that he had to say something. “Kíli...” he mumbled sleepily.

Kíli’s humming paused. “Yes, Fíli?”

“I love you.”

Kíli remained silent, but he gave his brother’s hand a small squeeze. Too drowsy to be dissatisfied, Fíli drifted off. Kíli sat very still as Fíli slept, his faint snores thrumming against Kíli’s chest.

Fíli’s last conscious words echoed in Kíli’s mind, and he kissed the top of Fíli’s head. “I love you too, Fíli,” he spoke softly into his brother’s golden locks. He too fell asleep, with Dís’s song playing in his mind.  
-/-/-/-/-


	2. Thorin Oakenshield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin gets mad at himself and then he gets a surprise visitor...

Thorin was curled up inside his cell, drifting in and out of miserable slumber. His dreams were not at all comforting, and being jolted awake by the echoes of a petrified scream was even worse. The Dwarf prince leapt to his feet instantly, grasping the bars of his compartment. He knew that voice, and the suffering and terror behind it sent chills winding up and down Thorin’s spine.

 _What are they doing?!_ Thorin thought frantically. _What are those accursed Elves doing to Fíli?_ He strained to see in the darkness, but it was no use. He was too far away. Thorin waited tensely, anxiously for another scream. As long as there was noise, he at least knew that his nephew was alive. But there was only silence. Long, dreadful silence.

“Oh, no,” Thorin whispered. “No. Please.” He sank back down to the ground and hugged his knees to his chest. Anger and anguish mingled, bringing hot tears to his eyes. He rubbed at them, furious with himself for being so pathetic. He wondered where the rest of his Company was. Were they already dead? No, Thranduil—that _cursed_ Thranduil—wanted them alive for information. And yet Thorin knew that each and every one of them would die before they gave up anything about Erabor, no matter how terrified they were.

 _This entire quest was for nothing_ , Thorin thought hopelessly. _I have led all that remains of my people into the worst dangers—all for nothing. I’ve led them horribly. First there were the trolls, then the Orcs, Rivendell, and the Mountain Giants. The Goblins, too. I nearly killed myself acting all high and mighty with Azog; I got us lost here in Mirkwood, we were poisoned by spiders, and then captured. And now I’ve doomed us to wither away in the dungeon of a cursed Elf._

“You’re a fool, Thorin,” the Dwarf muttered to himself. “A weak, cowardly fool. A fool who lets himself freely be disparaged by a Goblin. A fool who cannot even face a single Pale Orc without the aid of a _homely Halfling_.” He ground his teeth. “A Halfling that has abandoned us to rot here in this—”

“Thorin,” a voice whispered. Thorin’s head jerked up. He peered suspiciously into the darkness, but he saw no one.

“Who’s there?” Thorin demanded.

“Hush. Don’t speak so loudly,” the voice said quietly, and Thorin recognized that tone. It was the Halfling.

“Baggins...?”

“Yes,” Bilbo agreed. “It’s me.”

“Why can I not see you?”

“There’s no time to explain. Just know that no one else can see me, either. None of the others know I’m here. I thought I would come to you first.”

Though he found this situation utterly baffling, Thorin was pleased with Bilbo’s remembrance that _he_ was the leader. “That was good of you.”

“I’m going to find a way to get you out,” the invisible Bilbo continued. “It may take some time, though.”

“Take whatever time you need,” Thorin sighed wearily.

“Good. I’m going now.”

“Wait!” Thorin cried desperately. He hadn’t realized how he missed hearing another’s voice. And besides, he needed to know something.

“Yes?”

“Can you see if Kíli and Fíli are alright?” the Dwarf gasped. “I...I must know if my nephews are safe.”

Bilbo’s voice was gentle. “Of course.” He paused. “Wait here a moment.” Thorin found this rather annoying, seeing as he had no choice.

“Is that supposed to amuse me, Halfling?” he spat. He was even more irritated when the only answer was silence.

After what seemed a long while, Thorin jumped when the Hobbit announced, “It’s alright, Thorin. Your boys are fine. They’re fast asleep,” Bilbo assured him. Thorin took a deep breath.

“...Thank you.” Thorin hoped that the darkness would veil the flush in his cheeks. Bilbo didn’t know how grateful he was for this message. “Did you see any of the others?”

“Master Glóin. He seemed alright, but as I said before I didn’t talk with him.”

“Good. See if you can find Balin and Dwalin. If you do, tell them that I’m alright, and I’m thinking of a way to esca—”

“Who are you talking to?!” came the booming voice of the guard. The burly Elf, Thriondil, marched down the hall toward Thorin.

“No one,” Thorin grumbled.

Thriondil jabbed a spear at him. “You can appreciate the fact that I am watching everything you do. I hear all and see all.”

“I can say and do whatever I want, and you won’t understand me,” Thorin growled in Khuzdûl. Though Thriondil couldn’t comprehend the words, he detected the mocking and disdain behind the Dwarf’s tone.

With a huff the Elvan guard stalked back down the hall. Thorin muttered under his breath, “Bilbo?”

“I’m here,” the Hobbit breathed. “Phew...He almost touched me!” After a few breaths, Bilbo agreed softly, “Yes, I will try to find Balin and Dwalin. I’ll see you tomorrow night, Thorin.”

“Then will you explain your invisibility?”

“Yes. Goodnight.”

With that, the Halfling was gone.  
-/-/-/-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did I say? Angst and so on, and so on.


	3. Balin and Nori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balin is snappish and Nori feels sad about something he said to Dori.

Balin sat in his dark prison chamber, silently brooding. While his expression was very calm, inside his thoughts and emotions roiled.

_We should never have come._   
_Where is Dwalin? Is he safe? Is he frightened? No, he’s strong...isn’t he? Will this break him? It couldn’t. Could it?_   
_We’ll never get to the Mountain before Durin’s Day. It’s too late. All this is for naught. We will die here._   
_We should never have come._

“...can I use it?”

Balin looked up. “Pardon?”

Nori was examining the lock to their cell. “If you have a hairpin, can I use it?” he repeated. “I’m going to try to pick this lock.”

Balin shook his head. “Don’t you have one? With your hair in that fashion, one would think you would.” Surely that three-peaked style required hairpins.

“Nope,” Nori sighed. “I made sure to use as few as possible before we came. Seems I lost the ones I had in Goblin-town, what with all the tumbling.”

“Ah. Well, I’m sorry to say that I have none.”

Nori cursed in Khuzdûl and stepped away from the door. He sat on the floor beside Balin. “Some kind of thief I am,” he said sadly. “I can’t even get myself out of a coop like this. I’ve done it before, but back then Dori was forcing me to use hairpins. Now I see how useful they were. A little late, though.”

“Indeed,” Balin said flatly. Nori glanced at the older Dwarf, and his face softened.

“We’re going to get out of this fix, Master Balin, just like we always do. Thorin will find a way to get out.”

Balin refused to meet Nori’s gaze. “One can never be sure. Gandalf has left us, and the courage of the others is failing.”

“No!” Nori shook his head vigorously. “If I know any of them well—which I think I do—this setback has just made them more eager to go on. What’s that one saying? ‘The journey is the reward’?”

Balin looked sideways at his companion. Nori stared back earnestly. “Perhaps there is hope,” Balin allowed. “But...” He fell silent.

“But—what?” Nori pressed.

“I’ve never...” Could he say it? That he had never had any faith that this quest would succeed? Well, that wasn’t exactly true. When that Rivendell Elf, Elrond, had translated Thorin’s map, Balin had thought to himself, _It seems like this is truly going to work out_. However, from there things had deteriorated, as had Balin’s optimism. When he had seen his wounded cousin hanging unconscious in the eagle’s claws...that was when all hope had drained out of him, replaced by fear and doubt. And while he was relieved and so very thankful that Thorin was alright, doubts were still harbored in Balin’s mind.

“Master Balin?” Nori probed uncertainly.

“It’s nothing,” Balin mumbled, turning away. “Nothing.”

Despite his fervent curiosity, Nori decided not to press the matter. Instead he asked, “Do you miss your brother?”

Balin closed his eyes in frustration. Nori had chosen the next-worst subject available to him. “Immeasurably,” Balin spat. “And you?”

Nori heard the older Dwarf’s tone and knew to draw back. He murmured, “Yes,” and moved to the opposite corner. Balin knew he should apologize for his harsh attitude, but he didn’t. He couldn’t yet.

Nori gave a sigh and rested his chin on his knees. He _did_ miss his brothers. He missed sweet Ori who tried to be strong and prove himself worthy of trust. He missed fussy Dori who could instantly become a protector if he needed to. He wanted their encouragement, but they weren’t here to give it.

Where were they now? Ori was doubtless scared to death by this imprisonment. Had the Elves locked him up alone? Nori felt a searing sensation of pain in his stomach. Poor, lonely, frightened Ori.

Dori was likely to be furious, pacing like an agitated cat behind his bars. He was probably expecting Nori to come up with some kind of grand escape, like he always did. But now Nori didn’t have the resources.

“Dori, you fool,” Nori muttered angrily under his breath. “Why didn’t you remind me to use more hairpins, like you used to?” He felt a pang as he remembered his last face-to-face conversation with his brother. They were about to leave to meet the rest of the Dwarfs and head for Hobbiton. The two had been arguing.

_“Why do you always have to be mothering me like I’m some child?!” Nori shouted._

_“Because you don’t do what you’re supposed to,” Dori snapped. “You never did, never do, and probably never will. You never clean the table, never care for Ori; you never pull your weight. You never listen! Because you’re lazy!”_  

_"Well, you can just cinch your own britches, because after this quest, I’m done! I’m leaving! For good!” Nori yelled as he stormed away._

Nori gave a sigh. Since then the brothers had been distant and cold. They watched each other’s backs in battle, of course, because that was their duty. They made jokes and teased each other also, but that was for Ori’s benefit. He didn’t know about their argument, and they had wordlessly agreed not to let him know.

Nori swallowed thickly, trying to convince himself that the blurring of his vision was anything but tears.  
-/-/-/-/-


	4. Bifur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bifur has very painful doubts about his cousins and their love for him.

Bifur was curled up near the door of his enclosure, staring forlornly through the bars. He felt like a caged mutt. He wished that his cousins were with him, so he could know they were out of harm's way. He had tried to communicate with the guard, tried to ask where Bofur and Bombur were and if they were safe.

Not only did the Elf not understand his speech, he didn’t care. In answer to his questions Bifur had been jabbed with the guard’s spear point. The gash in his arm stung a bit, and a blood pathway trailed down to his wrist, but the Dwarf paid it no mind. He was too angry and sad.

Bifur wanted his family. He wanted to see that they were alright, wanted to hear their comforting voices. But he knew it was fruitless. He couldn’t explain what he wanted, and even if he could he probably wouldn’t get it. For the umpteenth time he cursed the axe in his skull, and the Orc that had thrown it.

Now, the Dwarf had to wonder: how long would his companions hold out? How long would they keep their quest in secret? He himself would forever remain silent. Even if the Elves somehow forced him to speak, he was unable to voice their tongue.

Bifur’s mind worked just a bit slower than the others, but still he realized: his cousins were able to speak the Common Tongue. The Elves could torture them, and compel them to tell of their quest! He sat up straight, eyes wide.

Suddenly he felt a helpless fury rise in him that was so gripping he kicked the bars of his cell, making a terrible racket. He was so enraged that he did it again, incessantly. _Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!_

“Cease your noise!” the sentry commanded. Snarling in response, Bifur thrust out his boots, driving them into the bars with a very rewarding clang. Satisfied, he slunk into the corner of his cell, sulkily.

Breathing hard, Bifur simmered in the corner. Eventually, however, his anger cooled, and he began to fret again. He wondered what the Elves might do to his cousins if they _didn’t_ talk. Ghastly images appeared in his mind. Would the Elves make his cousins like him? He was a mute murderer, an ugly tool used for killing Orcs and Goblins.

Bifur knew that Bofur and Bombur would deny this. They would cast their love on him like a warm blanket, and he would feel accepted. But when Bombur went to his wife and children and Bofur was working, when the house was empty and quiet—it was then that seemed that all Bifur’s life seemed to shrink. He could feel the walls closing in on him. In those moments, Bifur knew what he truly was: a marred and blighted animal, whose owners pretended to feel affection for him and then escaped to their other duties to be free of him.

Hence Bifur had to acknowledge: he _was_ a caged mutt. He didn’t matter at all. He wasn’t part of the Company. The only reason he was here was because he was a tagalong to his cousins. And suddenly Bifur didn’t want to see them. Instead, he felt angry with them for feigning love.

 _I don’t need them. I don’t need their love. I know I don’t need anyone but me. I don’t need anyone. NO ONE!_ Something in Bifur’s heart hardened, and it hurt him deeply.

A voice in his head tried to convince him otherwise. _Bofur and Bombur DO love you. You’ve been like a father to them almost all their lives. How could they not love you?_

But the anger and loneliness and hurt and hatred that had built up for so many years spoke again. _Why would they care for a mongrel like you? They take time for you because it is their duty. To leave you would be dishonorable after all you’ve done for them. Therefore they stay. But the years drag on, and they’re starting to get tired of you._

As he sat there, Bifur found that his mind was filled with reasons why Bofur and Bombur would loathe him.

_Bombur has a large family to care for. Soon he will make his excuses and leave you. He’ll say it in that mild way of his: “I’m sorry, Bifur, but...my family needs me.” And then he’ll go to his wife and they’ll have a private laugh about how easy it was to discard you._

_Bofur is a handsome Dwarf. A Dwarf Woman will soon beg him to marry her. From there it is a repeat of your fate with Bombur. He’ll be hip-deep in children, and then plead with you for a break. Tell you he has obligations. He must care for his family. He must work. He must visit Bombur. He must get medicine for this or that ill child. He must, must, must. And soon you’ll be all alone in your empty house._

Bifur felt a sob catch in his throat. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he _did_ need his cousins. He adored them: Bofur, embodiment of the word merry, with his sparkling eyes and rascally grin; Bombur, gentle soul, with his kindly eyes and humble smile.

 _Deceivers_ , hissed the angry voice. Bifur shook his head violently, trying to get the irritating voice of doubt out of his mind. Bofur and Bombur did love him. They had shown it time and time again. If they did not love him, they would not watch his back in battle. If they did not love him, they would let him be killed by the Orcs or the Goblins.

 _It’s all duty_ , the voice insisted. Again and again. Bifur hesitated, and the upsetting thought pushed all the harder at his heart, rubbing it raw and draining his energy. Bifur gave a weary sigh. He hated this inner turmoil. He hated being different.

 _Duty...duty..._ Bifur’s insides tightened as one half of him leaned toward belief of the lies and the other leaned toward the truth.

_But what is the truth? How do I know?_

As the painful thoughts echoed inside his head, Bifur pressed his eyes closed and clasped his hands tightly in prayer-like fashion. Indeed, he _was_ praying.

_Mahal, what are you trying to do to me? Why am I feeling this way? Where are these thoughts coming from? PLEASE GIVE ME ANSWERS!_

At last, however, the anguished Dwarf reached a decision. Bifur relaxed his tense body, and he quietly began to laugh. This was not his usual, gentle laugh. It was cold, bitterly cold.

The sentry, Lieutenant Legyndir, heard his prisoner snickering, and he shivered at the sound of it. Behind it was something he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. If he’d been allowed, he would have asked for a reassignment. This Dwarf was wrong in the head, and Legyndir didn’t want anything to do with him. And yet, he didn’t want the other guards to think him cowardly; therefore he clutched his spear tightly in his hands and tried to block out the disturbing laughter.  
-/-/-/-/-


	5. Dwalin and Ori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori gets emotional and, to take the youngster's mind off of it, Dwalin tells a story.

Ori sat with his head on his knees. He felt so small and helpless. Tears stung the backs of his eyes, but he blinked hard to keep them away. He couldn’t cry in front of Dwalin. The older Dwarf may not be paying attention to him at the moment, but he would give up at any time.

Dwalin grasped the bars of their prison cell, his muscles tensing, brow furrowed in concentration. And yet the door would not yield. Sweat beads trailed into Dwalin’s beard, and at last with an exasperated sigh he withdrew and sat next to Ori.

“It’s useless,” he grumbled. “We’re trapped.” To hear Dwalin say this made Ori’s gut wrench, and he squeezed his eyes shut as the tears threatened again. Dwalin glanced at his companion and saw his young features contorted in anguish. “I’m sorry, lad,” Dwalin added awkwardly.

A barely suppressed sob tried to escape from Ori’s throat. At last he couldn’t keep the tears back any longer. Ori’s topaz brown eyes met Dwalin’s silver gray ones, and he sobbed out, “I’m sorry, Mister Dwalin...I just...I just want to go home!” He started unreservedly bawling, and Dwalin sat uncomfortably. After a moment he wrapped an arm around Ori’s shaking shoulders. Ori buried his face in Dwalin’s coat and wept.

“I miss my brothers!” he moaned, his voice muffled in the fabric. “I’m scared!”

Dwalin swallowed around a lump in his throat. He wished Balin were here to help. Balin knew what words to say and how to say them. Still, he had to say something.

“I miss my brother, too,” he admitted, and winced. It had come out sounding pitiful, which didn’t help much. Now Ori was crying for both of them, and he could do nothing to take back the words.

After a long time Ori ran out of tears, and he scooted away from Dwalin, rubbing his eyes. “D-Dori has always taken care of me,” Ori hiccupped miserably. “Now that he’s g-gone I d-don’t know what t-to do.”

“We just have to wait it out,” Dwalin sighed unhappily. “Thorin will think of something. I know it.”

“D-Do you think my brothers are alright?” Ori asked fearfully.

“I don’t think these Elves would kill them,” Dwalin said, trying to sound comforting. “At the least they would only torture them for information.” When the younger Dwarf’s face screwed up again, he added hastily, “But I really don’t think they will. Really.”

Ori took a shuddering breath and nodded. “Are you...are you scared, Mister Dwalin? Do you ever get scared?”

Dwalin paused. “Yes, laddie,” he said finally. “I do get scared, and I _am_ scared. I don’t know what the Elves are doing to Balin. I’m worried about him. I’m worried about Thorin and the others as well.”

Ori nodded again, forlornly. “Where do you suppose the princes are?”

“Probably in their own cells. I hope they are together,” Dwalin muttered, mostly to himself.

“Do you think Dori and Nori are together?” Ori asked hopefully, perking up a bit.

Dwalin shrugged. “Perhaps they are.”

Ori gave a sigh. “I hope they are. Although, over the past few weeks I’ve noticed that they rarely speak to each other. I don’t know what’s wrong, but they don’t talk about it.”

Absently stroking his beard Dwalin answered, “An argument perhaps. Balin and I used to bicker all the time when we were younger.”

“You did?” Ori’s eyes went wide. “But you and Mister Balin have this wonderful relationship!”

Dwalin gave a rare grin. “We didn’t always. I remember a time when we had a dispute so ugly that we didn’t speak to each other for two weeks.”

“ _Two weeks?!_ " Ori echoed. “I could never be angry that long!”

“Well, we were. Balin even moved out of the house.”

“He did?” gasped Ori.

“Yes,” Dwalin said seriously. “He went to go live with Óin and Glóin. Eventually, though, we were forced to meet. It was Fíli’s birthday, and Thorin insisted that we both come to the celebration. I’m sure Balin vowed not to speak to me, but suddenly we found ourselves alone together. We both tried to go for the door, but Thorin—” He chuckled slightly as he remembered. “—Thorin had locked it from the outside.”

Ori gazed at him with rapturous attention. “What happened then?” he asked in awe.

“For a while, Balin and I didn’t speak, but we knew we had to get it over with, because if we didn’t, Thorin would never unbolt the door,” Dwalin continued. “So I said, ‘We’ve not spoken to each other for two weeks.’ Balin agreed, ‘Indeed. It’s been a long time.’ Then our eyes met...” Dwalin’s voice became soft. “...and we knew that we needed each other.”

The two were silent for a long while. Dwalin wanted to say more, to encourage this young one to cling to his brothers, to treasure the time they had together, but he didn’t know how to voice it. Dwalin gave a faint sigh. Oftentimes his advice came out wrong and awkward, and he didn’t want that to happen again.

Ori didn’t know how to respond to Dwalin’s tale. He wished he knew how to express his feelings about what Dwalin had said, but he couldn’t seem to find the correct words. He bit his lip. He usually sounded silly or childish when he tried to talk in this way, and he couldn’t risk it now.

Therefore, both remained silent, each silently brooding on the conversation. As Dwalin was just puzzling out how to say what he wanted, he heard a noise. His head jerked up, and he was instantly on alert.

“What is it?” Ori asked timidly. Dwalin stood and looked on warily as a shadowy figure appeared before them.  
-/-/-/-/-


	6. Óin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Óin feels very angry and lonely and does some angst-y fretting about his brother.

Óin was so livid he wanted to scream. “Disrespect,” he snarled angrily. “Disrespect and pure discourtesy! Those uncaring, egotistical, pointy-eared brutes!” No one but his own brother would have been able to tell that behind his ire there was something different. Óin was panicking. He relied on his hearing trumpet so heavily, and now that those Elvan bullies had taken it away he could barely perceive his own words.

“What have those despots done with it?” he fretted. “They’ve probably melted it down or...” His fury boiled again to the surface. “Of course. They’ve fixed it up and given it to someone else! How dare they?!”

Óin was also very concerned about his brother. The Elves weren’t particularly patient with Dwarfs in general, but Glóin’s tetchy temper and sharp tongue could get him into massive trouble. Óin wondered where Glóin was at this moment, what he was thinking and feeling.

 _Does he feel like I do?_ Óin pondered worriedly. _Because right now, I just want to turn back. I miss our home in the Blue Mountains. I miss my job, and the Dwarflings. They may be my nephews, but they feel like sons to me._

Despite the grim circumstances, as he thought of his nephews Óin was able to manage a small smile. His older nephew, Óin the Second, was more like himself: gentle, and yet feisty when he wanted to be. His younger nephew, Gimli, definitely took after Glóin: quick-witted, short-tempered, and yet fiercely loyal.

 _I wish they had been old enough to come along_ , Óin sighed mentally. _Those boys can make someone laugh in a heartbeat. Oh, how I miss them_. It seemed long ago, but Óin still recalled stubborn little Gimli running after them when they were departing.

_“Adad!” came his frantic voice. “ADAD!! Wait for me!”_

_Glóin whirled instantly and gaped at his son. Gimli had somehow struggled into his older brother’s armor and had his father’s extra axe dragging behind him. The lad’s helm was askew and Glóin’s axe was much too large for him, but Gimli was still trying to follow._

_"Gimli! No!” Glóin shouted. “You’re too young!”_

_Even from far away they could hear Gimli’s wail. “BUT KÍLI GETS TO GO!!!”_

In the present, Óin found that he was comforted greatly by this memory. It was a piece of home that he could cling to while he was here alone. The only downside was that it made him miss his brother Glóin even more. Óin remembered the first time he’d seen his little brother. He had been only nine years old, and he was fascinated with Glóin’s dark eyes and russet brown hair. Love and fierce commitment had burst into his heart for this Dwarfling, and Óin had sworn that nothing would ever, _ever_ hurt Glóin.

Of course it was a child’s oath, and Óin wasn’t always there to protect Glóin from falling, or cutting himself on something sharp, or, when he grew taller, knocking his head on a doorframe. But whenever there was any danger that could fatally harm his brother, Óin was always there. Guiding him down into the hole that held safety from the Orcs. Keeping him away from the cliff-edge as the stone giants fought. Shoving his way to his brother’s side even when the Goblins tried to keep them apart. Clinging to his arm as they dangled in the tree, Azog’s laughter echoing in their ears.

And yet, Óin had discovered that Mirkwood was even worse than all their previous adventures. One moment in particular. _That was one of the worst moments of my life_ , Óin agonized mentally. He could feel the panic rising up in him again, threatening to strangle him. He closed his eyes against it, trying to forget.

When the Mirkwood Spiders attacked, Óin had seen a giant arachnid’s stinger impale his brother. That was horrifying enough, but the stunned look on Glóin’s face struck pure terror like lightning into Óin’s heart. As Glóin’s limp form crumpled to the ground, Óin had believed that, after so many years, he had at last failed to be a protector. He thought the venom had killed Glóin.

In that moment, something inside Óin had died. Not even the later knowledge that his brother was alright could repair it. He wasn’t certain what had happened, but Óin now felt a dull chill in his heart where had once been something good.

The terror Óin had felt lasted far beyond that moment. He had been living with the fear that some kind of dark horror would seize his brother at any moment. He needed to sleep near Glóin, and travel near him, to ensure not only his younger brother’s safety but also his mental stability.

Óin was an expert at hiding his problems from others. Glóin was one of the very few who could tell when something was wrong. Indeed, Glóin had noticed Óin’s frantic need for closeness, and he had confronted him about it.

_“What’s wrong with you, brother?” Glóin demanded, his voice gruff with concern. “I may still be shaking off that cursed spider poison. I may be starving and thirsty and exhausted, but I know something’s wrong. Ever since we were captured by the spiders you’ve been...” He thought for a moment, and then announced, “paranoid!”_

_"I don’t know what you mean,” Óin snapped, but Glóin caught the waver in his brother’s voice. Glóin took a step toward him, and his expression softened._

_“Tell me what’s wrong, brother. Otherwise I can’t help you,” he entreated Óin, very kindly for his normally harsh personality._

_“You can’t help me,” Óin murmured. Glóin reached toward him, but Óin sidestepped his hand. “Glóin, if you want to help, promise me—” He stopped._

_“Promise you what?” Glóin asked desperately. “Anything, Óin. Anything.”_

_“Promise me you won’t be killed on this quest,” Óin blurted. Glóin stared at him in disbelief. There was silence for a long time, but at last Glóin spoke._

_“I can’t promise that,” he said quietly. Óin paled, and then, backing away, fled to the rest of the Company._

That was the last conversation they’d had before Thranduil had seized them.

And now, here in his lonely cell, Óin had to wonder if his cherished younger brother was already dead. After all, he had promised nothing.  
-/-/-/-/-


	7. Dori and Bofur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur is ecstatic when he is given messages from the Burglar, Dori is doubtful, and then begins to have regrets about his argument with Nori.

Dori found himself shaken awake suddenly. He jerked slightly, and looked up. In the darkness he could dimly see gleaming brown eyes gazing back at him.

“Bofur?” Dori asked drowsily. “What...”

“I can’t believe you slept through it all!” Bofur hissed. “He told me to wake you up and tell you we’re going to—”

“Who?” Dori interrupted. “Who told you that?”

“Bilbo!” Bofur whispered excitedly. “He’s going to help us break out of here!”

“I think you dreamt it up, Mister Bofur,” Dori sighed. “Just go back to sleep.”

“I swear by Thorin’s Mountain Key that I spoke with Bilbo Baggins,” Bofur said defiantly. “It wasn’t a dream, I’m telling you!”

“A hallucination then,” mumbled Dori. “From the spider poison.”

Bofur scowled. “Wet blanket, you! You’ll see, Dori. I know he was real. He even sent me a message from Bombur, and one for you from Ori.”

Dori sat up when he heard that. He wasn’t certain if he could trust Bofur’s tale, but what if it was true? Would Bofur really go so far as to pretend he had a message from Ori? No, Bofur was too kind for that. Therefore, he must be telling the truth! Dori’s heart quickened a bit.

“What...what did he say?” he asked cautiously.

“He said that Ori wants to know if you’re alright, if the Elves have been unkind to you, and if Nori is with you,” Bofur counted off the questions.

Dori took a deep breath. Ori at least had to have use of his wits and his tongue to be able to send a message. “Thank you, Bofur.”

Bofur grinned, looking strangely wolf-like in the gloom. “Certainly.”

Dori turned his back on his comrade and curled up again, but he had no intention of sleeping. Instead he mentally composed answers to his little brother’s questions.

 _“Yes, I’m alright, aside from being hungry and a bit cold. No, I’ve been treated decently enough, seeing as I’m the captive of Elves. No.”_ Dori grimaced. With his first two answers being so descriptive, Ori was sure to wonder why Dori did not want to talk about Nori. Perhaps he could just keep it to “yes, no, no.” But then, of course, Ori’s feelings would be hurt at his lack of communication.

Nori. Anger stirred in Dori’s heart as he thought of his younger brother. That obstinate, bigheaded, overconfident, unrefined lout. However, as he was inwardly cursing and simmering, Dori found that some wisdom his mother had shared with him suddenly spoke to his mind.

“Anger is almost always the second emotion, Dori,” Jalane had cautioned. “The first emotion passes so quickly, but it _is_ there. Ask yourself: how are you really feeling?”

 _Angry! I’m angry!_ Dori shouted silently. He stopped. He could just imagine Jalane’s dubious frown at his answer.

Unwanted by Dori, Nori’s last direct words to him revisited his mind. _“...After this quest, I’m done! I’m leaving! For good!”_

Dori began to wonder how life would be without Nori’s problems. He would never have to pick Nori’s clothes up off the floor; never have to order Nori to the bath; never have to yell at Nori for being late for supper. For a moment, that life sounded pretty nice.

But then Dori considered how it would be without Nori himself. There would be no one with whom to have older-brother conversations; no one to keep him company when Ori departed for school; no one to calm him down when he felt overwhelmed with responsibilities.

As he pondered this, Dori felt some other emotions rise. Grief. Angst. Fear. Dori had heard his younger brother’s tone when he had proclaimed that he was leaving. Nori had been defiant and furious with him.

_“I’m leaving! For good!”_

Dori felt his insides twist in pain, for he knew that whenever Nori said something that way, he never changed his mind. Nori had proved this time and time again, and as far as Dori knew Nori had no intention of breaking that record. Dori sat up frantically. A sense of helplessness hammered him straight in that one soft place inside.

He needed advice. Right now. Dori wished that Balin were here, but Bofur was the only person available to talk to. _He’s an older brother_ , Dori thought. _He might know how I feel._ But as he was reaching a decision Dori heard his companion’s quiet breathing and knew he’d fallen asleep.

Bofur would understand if he woke him, wouldn’t he? And yet, what if he was angry? Dori felt flustered and disconcerted. His hand hovered over Bofur’s sleeping form, and then pulled away. He couldn’t do it. He had to! but he couldn’t. Crawling away, Dori huddled in the corner, taking deep breaths.

 _I’ll be fine. All I need to do is bury it. My feelings can’t rule me. I can do this..._ As he stuffed the dark feelings deep down in his stomach Dori felt even worse, but he could see nothing else to do.

Taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself, Dori lay down, pressing his back against the cold wall of the cell. He busied his mind with other things, such as escape. It was remarkable that Bilbo had found them, and that he had spoken with Bofur. But even that brought him back to Nori. If they perhaps did escape, Nori would be there. Dori knew that if he saw Nori’s face, if their eyes happened to meet, he would break down. That would be unacceptable.

Thus Dori swore to remain emotionless. Then the quest would end, Nori would leave, and he would at last be free to cry.  
-/-/-/-/-


	8. Glóin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo, Balin, Dwalin, Nori, and Ori arrive to liberate Glóin, who can't stop talking. After he gets out of his cell Glóin has a run-in with a round and shiny Object and faces momentary temptation to burgle from the Burglar.

Glóin looked up in surprise as the door to his cell creaked open. “By Durin!” he gasped. “How did you—?”

“Hush now, Mister Glóin,” whispered Bilbo as he stepped aside for the Dwarf to emerge. “If this is to work we must be _very_ quiet.”

“Aye,” Glóin breathed. As he caught sight of Bilbo’s companions, his face lit up. “Balin, Dwalin, Nori, Ori! It’s wonderful to see you aga—” He fell silent as soon as he saw the expression on Dwalin’s face. The massive Dwarf didn’t speak, but Glóin could clearly see that Dwalin wanted him to shut his mouth.

“We’re going to free your brother next,” Bilbo continued quietly. “Do you have any idea where he is?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Glóin admitted. “I thought they took down some left corridor, but I cannae be certain. The spider venom was still wearin’ off so my vision was a little foggy...” He paused as he noticed Bilbo’s raised eyebrow, and then concluded shortly, “Ah, no.”

“What must we do, Burglar? Should we split up?” Dwalin asked softly, surprising all of them. Dwalin rarely asked for another’s opinion on strategic matters, but seeing as Bilbo was the one most familiar with the prison halls it was the only option.

“No, we can’t split up,” Bilbo replied. “You’d all get lost and then I would have to go through all the trouble of finding you again.”

Glóin glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded defiantly, voice rising a notch.

Bilbo pressed a hand to his temple and gave a groan. As he did so, something small, golden, and glittery slipped from his grasp and fell— _clink_ —to the ground. Bilbo heard it fall and gasped, looking wildly about.

“The ring!” he cried, forgetting that he also was to be quiet. He dropped to his knees and felt about. “I can’t go on without that ring, it’s the only way I’ll stay hidden!” He looked desperately up at the five Dwarfs. “Help me look, please!”

The six Dwarfs hesitated for but a moment. They knew they would look very ridiculous groping about in corners and such, but Bilbo was getting so hysterical and upset that the Dwarfs had pity on him and helped him search.

Glóin gave a sigh and pressed his face against a crack at the base of one of the hallway walls. There he saw the golden ring, shining in the dim light. He was about to call out (crossly) that he’d found Bilbo’s precious ring, but something silenced him.

As he looked at the ring, Glóin found that even though it was simply designed, it was intriguing. There was something about the way it caught the light and reflected it so attractively.

 _I could keep it_. The Dwarf started slightly. Where had that thought come from? It had flashed so easily across his mind...

 _It belongs to someone else_ , his better reasoning cautioned him.

 _But he would never know that you had it_ , whispered his greed. _No one would_.

 _Give it back. Poor Bilbo is frantic and here you are staring at it. You’re wasting time with nonsense. GIVE IT BACK!_ shouted his conscience.

_It would be so easy to just slip it into your pocket. No one would notice. The ring could forever be “lost”. Bilbo would recover. And besides, it could be useful in the future. Invisibility is a marvelous gift! Think of the fame. You would be rich. Your sons would be in awe of you, isn’t that what you want? You want them to admire you, do you not? This might give that to you. You know you want it..._

Glóin hesitated, and threw a glance over his shoulder. No one was looking at him. Quickly, he snatched up the ring. It was cool and heavy in his palm. Glóin let out his breath. That wasn’t so bad.

“Have you found it, Glóin?” Bilbo asked desperately, startling the Dwarf. He turned somewhat and wouldn’t meet Bilbo’s gaze.

“Uh, well, I...” Glóin cleared his throat uneasily. Bilbo looked at him with such hope in his eyes that Glóin burst out, “Forgive me, laddie.”

Bilbo’s brow furrowed. “Forgive you...?” he echoed unknowingly.

Glóin nodded sadly and held the ring out towards the Hobbit. Bilbo’s eyes widened in realization, and he quickly snatched the ring from the Dwarf, slipping it safely into his pocket.

“Why did you want it?” Bilbo asked possessively. He knew why, of course. This ring had a strange pull, even to him, but he wasn’t going to admit that at the moment. He gazed pointedly at the Dwarf before him and waited expectantly.

“I...I don’t know,” Glóin stammered, his cheeks heating. “It, just, it was there and I was there and...” He looked over Bilbo’s shoulder and saw the other Dwarfs giving him curious looks. That was too much to bear. His consternation came off as irritation as he muttered, “Well, you’ve got it now so what does it matter? Do we forgive and forget or are we going to waste time sitting here?”

Bilbo’s hazel eyes narrowed, and he was about to snap at Glóin when Balin put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m afraid he’s right, laddie,” the white-haired Dwarf advised gently. “We found your ring, and now it’s best we make haste. Time is pressing and I’m sure you’ll get it sorted out later.”

Bilbo gave a small huff under his breath and turned his back on Glóin. Glóin glanced at Balin and felt ashamed at the wise Dwarf’s dubious expression.

Glóin shuffled after the other Dwarfs and Bilbo, all the while thinking about why on earth he had been tempted by that abnormal ring. The situation seemed, to him, rather eerie. He tried to block out the thoughts that arose in his mind about seizing Bilbo by the back of the neck and shaking him for good measure.

He soon forgot about the ring and its temporary hold over him when they found his brother in a very compromising situation. Óin sat with his head on his knees, trembling silently. In a flash Glóin recalled their conversation just before Thranduil caught them.

“Óin!” Glóin cried out, kneeling in front of the bars and pressing his face against them. The other Dwarfs and Bilbo stepped back to give them privacy. When his brother looked up and his eyes widened in amazement, Glóin said kindly, “I can take care of myself, brother. Don’t worry about me.”

Óin stared at him in astonishment. “How on earth did you get out?” he whispered. Glóin’s gut twisted. His brother’s voice was flat and hoarse, as it always was when he had recently been in tears. There was something else behind it too: the weariness of age.

“The Burglar and some of the others unlocked my cell,” Glóin explained. “We’re here to get you out too.”

Óin sighed sadly. “I cannae hear you, brother. Those Elves took away my ear-horn, I can barely hear myself right now. I’m sorry.”

Glóin paused. He didn’t want to raise his voice, but he knew he had to. “WE’RE GETTING YOU OUT,” he repeated, stressing each word despite how Bilbo and the others winced. Óin nodded hesitantly, and Glóin motioned for Bilbo to use the keys.

Once the door was unlocked and his brother stepped out, Glóin grasped Óin by the arm and held him near. He could see his brother was thankful for the contact, and it made him feel good. This time, _he_ would ensure the closeness.  
-/-/-/-/-


End file.
